


The House That Built Me

by arysa13



Series: love's always on time [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke goes back to her childhood home and meets the new owners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House That Built Me

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic in my two week challenge!  
> Send me prompts on tumblr @ keiraknighted or cgriff

It’s been years since Clarke has driven down this road. Nine? Ten? It’s familiar and foreign at the same time. The route from the town centre to her childhood home is somehow still etched in her long term memory, and comes to the surface easily, as she turns the steering wheel without much thought, her body knowing the way as much as her mind does. 

The driveway is shorter than she remembers, and the trees that line it have doubled in size, so only flickers of sunlight pass through and create patterns on the hood of her car as she slowly cruises up to the front of her old house. 

Her stomach drops unexpectedly as she pulls up and gazes at the two story farmhouse. It hasn’t changed much in ten years, as far as Clarke can tell. She notices a couple of cars parked at the front of the house, so there must be someone home. She gets the sudden urge to quickly leave, before they notice her here. She’s not even really sure why she’s come, and now she’s regretting her hasty decision. How is coming here going to solve anything? 

But she’s here now and she may as well see if the new owners will let her look around. She steels her nerves and unbuckles her seatbelt, sliding out of the car, not bothering to lock it behind her as she makes her way cautiously up the front steps to the big wooden door. She takes a deep breath, rings the doorbell and waits nervously for someone to answer. She hears some vague shouting, not the angry kind, before a gorgeous, dark haired woman answers the door with a small child perched on her hip. 

“Hello?” she says as the door swings open. She’s not impolite, but she is clearly confused as to why there is a random stranger standing on her doorstep, and probably has better things to do. 

“Uh, hi,” Clarke says awkwardly. “You don’t know me, but I used to live in this house. My dad built it actually,” Clarke rambles. Hot people make her nervous, as if coming here isn’t anxiety inducing enough in itself. The woman beams at her.

“Are you Clarke?” she asks. 

“How did you…?” Clarke frowns in confusion. The woman points behind Clarke to the front steps, where there are a pair of tiny handprints in yellow paint, and next to them in what Clarke recognises as her father’s handwriting “CLARKE, 1992”. 

“You kept them there?” Clarke can’t help but smile fondly as she remembers the day she made those handprints, however vague and probably incorrect the memory is. Her first work of art, in her favourite colour. She wonders why she ever stopped. 

“We thought it was cute. We’re going to get Indy to do some handprints next to yours,” the woman says smiling at her daughter who all of a sudden reaches for Clarke, grabbing her hair with her little fists. “Oh no! Indy,” the woman grabs at her daughter’s hands, trying to pry her away from Clarke’s hair. “Sorry,” she apologises, stepping back to make sure Clarke’s hair is out of Indy’s reach. “She’s weirdly obsessed with hair at the moment. I’m Octavia by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clarke says politely. “I was wondering… do you think I could just come in and look around? And then I swear I’ll leave,” she adds hastily. She doesn’t want to impose herself on this woman, but now that she’s _here_ she desperately needs to see it. Octavia hesitates, and Clarke thinks she sees pity on the woman’s face. 

“I would love to, but my husband and I are actually just about to head out. My brother is looking after Indy though, maybe he could show you?” Octavia suggests, and Clarke figures it doesn’t really matter who shows her around the house.

“Sure, if he doesn’t mind,” Clarke agrees. 

“Bellamy!” Octavia yells into the house. “Come in,” she says to Clarke, leading her inside. Clarke instinctively knows which way to go to get to the living room, but she lets Octavia lead the way anyway.

“What do you want? Who’s this?” a man, presumably Bellamy, Octavia’s (very handsome) brother, walks into the living room behind them.

“This is Clarke, she used to live here,” Octavia tells him, handing him her daughter. Indy immediately grasps onto her uncle’s tousled black curls. Bellamy does not look impressed. 

“She’s going to grow out of this, right?” Bellamy sighs. 

“So I’ve been told. Can you give Clarke a tour of the house? Lincoln and I are already late,” Octavia says, already starting to leave the room. “Where is he anyway?”

“I’m here, I’m ready,” Lincoln appears in the doorway and Clarke can immediately see where Indy gets her looks. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Octavia nods. They quickly say goodbye to their daughter (who lets go of Bellamy’s hair for a moment so she can try to grab Octavia’s) and rush out of the house. 

“So, Clarke,” Bellamy says, turning to her. “I’m Bellamy.”

“Yes, Octavia said,” Clarke nods. “Um, you don’t have to show me around, if you don’t want to,” she says lamely. For some reason she always gets the feeling that extremely attractive people probably have better things to do than talk to her. 

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says. “Where do you want to start?” 

“Upstairs?” Clarke suggests. “I’d like to see my old room, if that’s okay.” Bellamy nods and gestures for her to lead the way, following her, with Indy still in his arms. Clarke makes her way slowly up the stairs, savouring every creak, the familiarity making her feel calm somehow. She reaches the last door at the end of the hall and looks back and Bellamy to check if it’s okay to go in. He nods and Clarke pushes the door open. Everything is bright purple, and Clarke guesses this must be Indy’s room now. 

“This was my old room,” she says, more to herself than to Bellamy. “I had a desk over there where I would do my homework,” she points to where Indy’s crib stands against the wall now. “And I taught myself to play guitar.” Her chest aches in nostalgia, but she’s just glad she’s actually feeling _something._ She stands there for a moment, lost in her own memories, and to Bellamy’s credit he stands there silently, letting her soak herself in sunlight and sentimentality. Clarke eventually shakes herself from her reverie and turns back to Bellamy.

“Will you show me the rest?” she asks. 

They wander through the rest of the house and Clarke revels in both the similarities and differences of when she had lived there. Bellamy takes her outside then, puts Indy on the little plastic playground in the backyard before sitting on the swinging chair under a big oak tree. Clarke joins him, admiring the progress the oak has made in ten years. 

“I had a dog,” Clarke remembers. “His name was Rex. He died when I was eleven and we buried him under this tree.” All of a sudden, Clarke finds herself welling up, though she knows it isn’t really about the dog. She tries to hide her tears from Bellamy, but he notices right away.

“Hey,” he says softly, putting a comforting arm around her. “Is everything alright?” 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke sobs. “I shouldn’t have come,” she shakes her head but she doesn’t move to get up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bellamy asks her. “Sometimes talking to a stranger helps.”

“I just… everything in my life is a mess. This was the last place I remembered being really happy and I guess I just thought maybe if I came back here I could… I don’t know. Find myself. Remember who I used to be,” she shrugs. 

“And it didn’t work?” Bellamy guesses. His arm is still around her, though she’s not really crying anymore. 

“No, I guess it did a little bit,” Clarke sighs. “It just makes me yearn for how things used to be. So much shit has happened since I left home. My dad died, I had two astronomically failed relationships. I followed my head instead of my heart. And now I feel like I’m stuck. I’m just doing the best I can, and most of the time it doesn’t feel like enough. I have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“No one does,” Bellamy smiles wryly at her and Clarke can’t help but laugh a little. He pulls his arm away then and Clarke immediately mourns its absence. “Do you want a drink or something?” 

“No, I should probably get going,” Clarke sighs. 

“You don’t have to,” Bellamy says quickly. “Are you staying in town or…?”

“No, it’s just a day trip,” Clarke tells him, standing up. Bellamy follows her lead. 

“Okay,” he nods. “Well, you’re welcome back here anytime. I mean, I assume Octavia wouldn’t mind,” he grins. He goes to grab Indy and they head back inside. He sets Indy down as they reach the front door and he opens it for Clarke. 

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she smiles and he nods.

“Clarke?” he says hesitantly. “Could I give you my number? In case you ever find yourself and want to… I don’t know. Grab a drink or something?” 

“Sure,” Clarke smiles, handing him her phone so he can put his number in. 

“Or even if you don’t find yourself,” he shrugs. Clarke chuckles and looks down at her feet. 

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll see you around Bellamy,” she tells him. She walks back to her car, throwing a glance back over at her shoulder at him and he waves, and she waves back, earning a wave from Indy as well. She gets into her car and starts her drive back home, and somehow she feels like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders, and that maybe, somehow, everything is going to be alright. 


End file.
